


"Safety and Peace Malik."

by tokyopsycho



Category: Assassin's Creed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-26
Updated: 2014-03-26
Packaged: 2018-01-17 02:45:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1371073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tokyopsycho/pseuds/tokyopsycho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The master assassin was always good at what he does, but saying goodbye to Malik was the hardest obstacle he had to overcome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Safety and Peace Malik."

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first AC fanfic I have ever written so...yeah...enjoy I guess lol OTL

_"We are one. As we share the glory of our victories, so too should we share the pain of our defeat. In this way we grow closer. We grow stronger."_

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as Altair entered his dark, dank chamber, the chamber in which his right hand man, his best friend had his head decapitated in. A shiver ran down his spine as he circled the very bed that once housed the late Malik Al-Sayf. His stomach churned and tightened as he made his way over to his bedside, laying the side of his face on the sunken pillows, and fisting the dull, creased sheets in his hand. He could still smell the crimson blood that stained the fabric, mixed with the musky scent of his partner who was once by his side.

Altair tried his best not to break down, not to let any tears fall from his swollen, blood shot eyes, but he could not help feel guilty, for he was the one who left Malik alone, when he was at his weakest. He cursed himself over and over again. If he had not left for Mongolia, and had just sent someone else instead, if he had not abandoned the one he truly loved, maybe Malik would still be here, talking, breathing, _living_ like he would’ve. Like he should’ve. He was not meant to die. He was not meant to be taken away from Altair.

He should have lived.

The assassin was cold, lost and alone. The one person who was able to aid him at his time of need was gone forever. The one person he turned to for guidance at his time of need was no longer of this world. As Altair tried to wipe away the wetness on his face, he let out a choked sob, thinking back to when they were younger - novices still training in the Brotherhood led by Al Mualim. The time when the two of them were teens, standing side by side, as partners, brothers - as one. Malik was always more to him than just another assassin in the Order. Regardless of the rivalry between both men, the jealousy towards the master assassin, and the hierarchy over his fellow comrade, in the end, they managed to put aside their differences after Altair’s redemption, and truly work together to restore the Brotherhood. The arrogance of Altair had driven a wedge between the two, putting their friendship at stake and causing common conflicts.

Although Altair was not one to show his affections, being the domineering and pretentious assassin he was brought up to be, Malik was always his motivation, though it was not presented that way. Especially after the incident that occurred at Solomon’s Temple, his companion had become the catalyst which pushed him into serving for the greater good, to help the people who needed support the most, the citizens who needed freeing from the shackles of war.

_"You cannot **know** anything. Only suspect. You must expect to be wrong, to have overlooked something."_ Malik’s advice, which was given to him before assassinating Majd Addin voiced in his mind, as if Malik were standing next to him, speaking in his ear. He followed those words from the day he was told them, or so he thought. If he had been open to the possible consequences that may have occurred, he would have at least ordered someone to look over the wounded male while he was away. But he did not. Again he had overlooked the situation, and again he had to pay the price, regardless of who was sentenced to death this time.

Once Altair was able to recompose himself into a decent state, he stood up, gathering the bedding that had been wrapped around his partner, and made his way out of his room, taking one last look into the desolated darkness, before leaving it all behind. Upon his arrival into the silent terrace, he hesitantly disposed of the bundle of sheets into a fire he had lit previously, and looked out into the emptiness. Altair remembered carrying a weak and fragile Malik in his arms through the courtyard clearly, as if it were only moments ago. He could still hear Malik breathing apologies into his ear, murmuring his failure of not being a good enough leader. But Altair knew otherwise. He knew that his partner was more than capable of taking over the Order while he was away, and that he did not fail. Things just did not go the way they had hoped, the way they had planned.

It took the master assassin a long while to make it to the funeral ceremony. The weather was bleak, the sky a dark tone of grey, and the atmosphere filled with sadness. He felt that his presences was not approved at the burial, that he didn’t belong, for it was he who made the miscalculation, and it was he was rightfully responsible for the loss of Malik Al-Sayf. At least, that was the only logical and justifiable thought that crossed his mind. But to his surprise, the member of the Brotherhood, his cohorts and those who worked under his command greeted him with utmost respect and offered their condolences.

Just as his hazel eyes began to scan the crowd surrounding him, Altair felt a light tap on his shoulder. Behind him was a young male, one of his associates, with his head bowed in respect. The man told him that there were others waiting for him with Malik’s body, waiting for him to join them in finally lowering him into his grave. With a melancholic nod, he followed the other into a room, his vision fixed on the shrouded body that was resting on a raised platform in the middle of the room. His breath hitched at the sight. It was finally time to say his goodbye, to part ways with the one person who always stood by his side, through the pain that they had inflicted on each other - Malik always forgave him. Malik always helped him overcome and move on with his life. It was because of his partner that he was able to move forward and become was he is today.

Altair sniffed, and swallowed back the lump of regret and unfulfilled, unspoken words and moved closer to the dead body. The other men noticed that he needed some time with Malik, and left their master to do what he must.

Once they were both alone, Altair knelt by the deceased’s side and bowed his head, offering a prayer to the God above to protect his friend, apologising for the fact that he could not save him, that his mind was elsewhere. Altair slowly reached forward, stroking the other’s covered hand and wept silently, letting out suffocated sounds of sadness, and words of comfort to him, telling him that he was free, and safe, and he would finally be at peace.

When he saw the men around him once again, he stood up and straightened out his robes. Altogether, the assassins lifted Malik, Altair tightly gripping Malik’s ankles, his hands trembling. Slowly and carefully, they made their way outside to the burial ground, where the open grave awaited for Malik’s arrival. The cold, heavy rain had joined them, as the men lowered the body into the six-foot deep hole. When the body was in its rightful place, Altair took a step back, the Imam’s prayer drowned out by the rough wind against the trees as the cold air began eating him away from the inside. As he plucked a shovel, which was standing in the wet earth, he began to fill the grave, and before the last spadeful of wet dirt sealed the grave, and concealed Malik from the rest of the world, concealed him from his brother and best friend, Altair whispered,

_“Safety and peace Malik. Your presence delivered me both.”_


End file.
